A Look
by ArouraLeona
Summary: Gajeel considers his inability to be content in his new home. But there are really no answers. Rated T for language.  As always. It is Gajeel.  Style's slightly lyrical. Slightly. *Followup Posted!* Levy's POV.
1. A Look

A Look.

'It's not enough.'

Three words that came up a lot for him. He wasn't exactly the type to be grateful. Gratefulness was bulshit. Even when he should be. Life spared. New place to rest his head. Prop up his feet. Get in random fights. Make some cash.

All well an' good. He even enjoyed himself. Shit was workin' out better than he could hope. And yet those three words. That one simple fucking sentence. Haunted him.

He was unsatisfied.

He was drunk.

Normally that would mean a bar fight and mass property damage. But today it meant a crappy chair against the second story railing. A heavy-lidded gaze. A laughing girl – too far away to touch – clutching at her stomach with tears in her eyes.

'There's something missing.'

Cravings tickled his mouth. Sharpened his teeth. Widened and deepened the hungry void of his gut. Anytime he saw her. Anytime he heard her voice. Even when she was on the other side of a huge-ass room he could smell the joy in her. And he wanted her.

But she wasn't for him. It went beyond the blood that lay splattered on the hazy line of time between them. She was slowly erasing that by forgiving. By forgetting. And he was helping by changing. Becoming someone different. Better.

Not that different.

Not much better.

He couldn't make her laugh. Couldn't say or do anything that would put that stupid, carefree smile on her face. And she needed that. That smile was her. That laughter, her. He couldn't even pretend to be anything like compatible with that smile. That happy freedom.

'I need more.'

The wood creaked behind him. He made no move because it wasn't a surprise. His nose was filled with the scent of fire. "Came up here to get away from your shit, ass-fire." Wasn't the best insult ever, but he _was_ drunk.

The little shit laughed at him. _Laughed_. "You're sulking up here like a little girl! Are you gunna cry? You need your teddy -" The heavy lids became narrow slits.

Fists met flesh.

Fists brought vacancy.

Even as he took his eyes off of her, he knew she was there. He knew when her laughter stopped. Heard her making bland comments to other people at her table about how 'they would never learn.' Heard others agree. Heard the goddamn laughter return. Heard exasperated sighs and whispers of 'moron' circle the hall. But it didn't take long before others joined the fight. Before a pile of two became a maelstrom of a dozen. But …

'It's not enough.'

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I consider this lyrical prose. Sort of a poem in paragraph form. Which is why it's short. Because I'm not sure how much longer I could have kept it up, hahaha. Hope someone enjoyed. Please leave a review with your opinions.<p>

The style is probably more suited to Levi, but I can't help but write from Gajeel's POV. I feel very attached to his character! :D


	2. A Look Too

A Look. Too

'People are stupid.'

It was a horrible thing to think. She was a nice person! She did nice things. She had nice thoughts. But sometimes … uh … _reality_ got the better of her good heart. And some things were just _true_. Gah. That's a horrible thing to think too. She threw a book at her wall to get back on track.

Ugh. Still. She hated when people didn't notice totally obvious things. Sure she could go scream in their faces – if she were the type to do something like that – whatever it was that they were overlooking, but that was ignoring the most important point. They'd overlooked it in the first place.

They ignored it.

He ignored her.

It wasn't like she didn't deserve it. She ran away from him more times than she could have even cared to count. But … But that didn't stop her from wanting him to just _look_ at her. Actually look at her and recognize her as a real person. Not just the glance over he gave everyone else. A _real_ look. Every once in a while. Maybe once a week would be nice. She might even settle for once _ever_. But she wasn't high on his important priorities. That much was devastatingly obvious.

'I don't matter.'

There was something wrong with all of the guys at the guild. Some were playboys. Some were apathetic. Some didn't notice a damn thing while others were so weird who knew _what_ they thought. Then there was the select bunch of 'so nice and friendly and caring' that their actions could be mistaken for a particular brand of nice and friendly and caring. But the mistake was in the mistaking. Mistakening. Whatever.

But he was worse than all that. Worse because his every move reenforced the solid-wall boundary between the two of them. So much so that she dreamed about their one shining moment. She would fall asleep and see his bewildered, almost captivated, face as she explained her magic to him. Explained how she would free him. How he could save the guild with her help.

She freed him.

He ran off.

And that was it. She would see him sometimes. In the same building. Fighting with some of the others or eating. Plucking a new, obscure job off of the board. She would hear his voice sometimes without even seeing his face. When she was hiding in the safety of the library. Or when she had her back turned.

'Is he oblivious?'

He was smarter, she thought, than some of the others. He seemed that way at least. Sometimes. Not the way she was, but about other things he seemed startlingly observant. He didn't talk much, but when he did the things he said were usually relevant. When they weren't insults used to start a fight. Though, um. That was relevant. Or the singing. He really probably shouldn't do that. He could keep the hat though. And that almost pained searching look he got on stage. Somewhere between suffering and enlightenment.

That look made her, a person who experienced life through imagination and intelligence, want to reach out and _know_ in a physical way. The way his lips would tremble over a lyric – awful as the word and the sound might be – made her fingertips ache.

Her eyes burn.

Her chest tight.

Hands in her lap and lip between her teeth, she struggled to give her attention to the book in front of her, but it wasn't working. Sometimes even books couldn't tear him from her mind. Sometimes nothing could. And it was times like that when she couldn't say who her three words were meant for. Him. Or her.

'What an idiot.'

* * *

><p>Author's Note: So, the idea for this started almost as soon as I finished one, but it wasn't flowing so I wasn't going to go with it. Then it did a little. Then it stopped. Then I got a review from Aeleita that helped me break the dam and change the trickle into an all out flow. hahaha.<p>

Same thing here as in one. 'Three-word thought.' Two Paragraphs. Two, three-word lines. Paragraph. 'Three-word thought.' -Lyrical Prose. a la me. I guess. I just make this stuff up as I go along!

Hope you enjoyed! Please review!


End file.
